Grey Matters
by Ars Arpadok
Summary: Bane is feeling a bit off his game after his run in with the Jedi, maybe a trip home will help.


Here's a slightly more introspective Bane piece. It's obviously inspired mainly by the _Clone Wars _episode "Children of the Force." I think the mental gang-bang session in that episode is one of the most disturbing pieces of television I've seen. But then again, I was laboring under the impression that the Jedi were supposed to be the good guys.

Oh and I can't help but plug my previous Bane story "Matters of Aesthetics" in this one. I have no shame, really. You don't need to have read that one first though I've kept things pretty self explanatory.

* * *

Duro glowed a filthy orange; like fruit gone rancid and forgotten in some dark kitchen corner. Here and there great sulfurous clouds chased each other in plumed spirals. Red-grey scabs of landmasses could occasionally be seen in the wake of the cyclones. The planet seemed akin to nothing so much as a jaundiced ancient, rotting slowly toward that ultimate blackness. Then again, thought Cad Bane, being home always made him sentimentally poetic.

The instrument panel of the _Sleight of Hand_ pulsed, throwing the small cockpit and its occupant into red and black relief before plunging them back into the total dark of space. That pulse was becoming ever more spasmodic he noted. He needed to stop waxing lyrical and make a decision about which city-ship to dock with. Bburru Station was closest but it was totally out of the question. Bane had no idea if his father was still alive but his father's siblings and perhaps even some of his mother's would certainly still live there. It was also certain that they would still be attending slavishly to that damned tree. Bane's lip curled at the memory. His earliest recollections were of sitting in the great, orbital arboretum on spongy turf beneath the spreading green and red leaves of the artificial braches, watching as those fools clambered and fussed over the only genuine tree left from the surface. He had escaped from that prison sentence future as soon as he was old enough to pilot his own vessel and had lived as far from green and growing things as he could ever since.

Turning his mind back to the problem at hand he ran quickly through his other options. Not even he was daring enough to risk Jivv with its new clone garrison and security patrols. Urrdorf was too small as were all of the remaining mining stations and automat farms on the surface. It would have to be Jyvus, though it was on the side of the planet, opposite his current position.

Choice made Bane fired up the sub-light engines. He did not bother to set his auto-pilot. He could have flown to any heading in this orbit blind.

He found a suitably grubby, neglected port on of the aft, lower decks. The docking-master glared balefully at him but took his cash-creds and waved him along. Bane suspected his mood had more to do with being dragged away from what appeared to be a very hot round of sabacc than with any suspicion about the ship or its pilot. After some moments of consideration Bane opted to leave his breathing tubes, duster and hat on board. Better to appear as just another Duros Traveler. He also unstrapped the twin jetpacks from his boots and stashed only one of his LL-30s out of sight along his spine. Leaving the rest of his equipment neatly stacked at the hatch entrance he slid in amongst the sparse pedestrian traffic attempting to look like all the other, hunched, unassuming Durese and feeling naked.

He made his way up three levels to a more middling section. Better to be in an area populated by jump lagged business types than with the seedy, observant barves he usually associated with. This trip needed to stay about as unusual for him as possible. He wove through the passages between buildings, sticking to side routes; but at the same time trying not to appear to be skulking. He could feel his skin growing clammy from the stress despite the precise air modulation. He needed to get off the street and plan his next move before he gave himself away.

He came at last upon a likely place. Small and spotlessly clean but decidedly shabby and outmoded. The old female behind the counter furrowed her features into an expression of grandmotherly welcome. Perfect. He let his shoulders droop more, widened his eyes and arranged his face into an appealing expression he thought a weary, down on his luck, small time trader might wear. The beldam seemed charmed and wheezed merrily at him.

--You're here for a room dear. Well you're in luck; one of my very best has just come available.

Bane doubted that. He'd be surprised if there was even one other guest in this place. He couldn't hear movement elsewhere in the building. But he let his smile become more ingratiating and said.

-- Lucky for me indeed. I was only hoping for a quiet room and maybe a bite to eat after my travels. Is there anywhere nearby you might recommend for supper?

She beamed, her smile punctuated by several concentric ridges of loose skin.

--Why we have the best kitchen in this quarter, do some of the cooking myself. I'll have a plate ready and sent up to you in no time.

Bane tried to look pleased. The crone probably did _all_ the cooking. It was evidently about to be an evening of overdone vegetable matter and processed meat stuffs.

--If you'd just sign the ledger dear and state the time you'll be with us I'll take you up directly.

He signed as Juns Tade and marked down five standard days as the length of his stay. He didn't intend to hang about nearly that long but it was always best to muddy the trail as much as possible.

The ancient creature hobbled out from behind the desk and beckoned him down the hall. He followed her meekly; making polite sounds in response to her incessant chatter. The room was at the end of the corridor on the second storey. The lock was truly archaic, accessible via a heavy, ridged, metallic key-card of the kind Bane had seen only in holo-books and historical feeds. The weighty click of the bolt sliding home was rather comforting though.

The room was in a similar style to the rest of the building. It contained a bed complete with patchwork coverlet, a piece of prehistoric looking furniture that might actually be made of wood with double doors, drawers on one side and an open area on the other for hanging clothing. There was a tiny ensuite fresher decorated in pastel peaches and yellows and a battered projection screen on the wall opposite the bed. The most appealing feature of the room was its large transpariplaz window that gave a clear view of the street approaching the entrance. It was all impeccably tidy, forty years out of date and gave the general appearance of having been used last perhaps half that long ago. In short, it was the last place in the galaxy the fearsome Cad Bane should be found.

He tugged off his boots and tossed them carelessly into a corner. Crossing to the lone chair near the large window he flung himself into and stared blankly at the wall of a neighboring building. The light was fading fast but he found he preferred the dark more than ever these days. The dark let him imagine himself to be invisible, fully hidden from even his own thoughts. But not even he could evade his memories forever. The fatigue of the past months of running, of cobbling together enough small time work to survive since he dared not touch his usual accounts for fear of Republic monitoring finally got the better of him and he drifted into a half waking reverie.

He was a youngling, just out of his grub skin trying to run after his father's retreating back. Someone was restraining him. He fought uselessly against the strength of a fully grown male, an uncle perhaps, he couldn't remember. His mother was laid out in one of the traditional funerary niches. She would be sealed inside and sent down to the family's burying places on the surface soon. His father should be here. Instead the elder Duros chose to leave the details and mourning rituals to others. He had so recently received the honor of tending the thrice damned tree that he feared to be seen as neglecting his duties. Little Cad refused to speak to his father for a long, long time after that.

It was years later, he was old enough to begin training properly as a pilot. His relationship with his father had thawed from sub-zero to merely chilly by that time. The older male had taken his eldest male offspring to the gardens the afternoon before Cad would have to report for training. They had stood together under the tree that Cad had long ago come to despise. His father smiled dreamily at the thing and ran his fingers over the smooth, grey bark like a being touching his lover.

--This is our legacy Cad. This is our family's history. This tree grew on the surface of Duro once and someday it will seed a new race of space-bound duplicates. Think of it Cad, every city-ship could have a veritable forest. We would give them that, our family. Contained within this tree and those to come we will give the Duros species a gift nearly as great as space travel.

He had not understood what his father meant by "our family, contained within these trees." Thinking he must mean that a few members of their group would go with each new tree he told his father that he would rather travel without having to worry about a plant for the time being. His father had laughed and slapped his back too hard.

--And so you will Cad but someday you'll come back and be part of the tree. We all will.

He had only looked at his father quizzically until the other male had clarified and destroyed his son in the process.

--When we come home to the soil of Duro we go down to the burying places for a time, until our bodies are suitable to return here and continue to nourish the tree.

The ground under Cad's feet had suddenly become unstable. He stumbled, into the tree, and felt his gorge catch in the back of his throat. His blood pulsed behind his eyes. He could smell the wet, sweet soil beneath the roots. His family was that soil, his mother was that soil, he would be that soil. His father was rambling on about how the dead of their line were lucky; they lived on in these branches and in these leaves for as long as the tree did. Unable to listen to more the younger Duros shoved himself violently away from the vampire-plant in disgust. He had shouted at his father. He could no longer remember what he had said but in that moment he knew that he could never be part of his own family again. He could never forgive them for looking at his mother, at him, as merely material that would nourish this parasitic thing. He had left early for his pilot training and had never returned to them.

That was the day he discarded their name and became Cad Bane.

He started awake at a knocking on the door. Silently cursing his carelessness he drew his blaster and approached the door. He opened it a crack, being sure to keep the gun out of sight behind the jamb. It was only the proprietress, with a covered tray of something that smelled like bad laundry. She grinned.

--Dinner is served dear.

He returned the smile with a great deal of effort.

--Just one moment, I was in the fresher, need to get my trousers back on.

He closed the door perfunctorily on her disturbingly lusty chuckle. He took a moment to slip back into his Traveler act and conceal the blaster under a pillow. He had to let her in to get his meal and she proceeded to babble maddeningly and poke around the room. He had to reassure her half a dozen times that the room was to his liking and he wanted for no items or toiletries. He finally backed her rapidly into the corridor when she made a move to fluff his pillows. He doubted he could make it through one more day of her solicitousness, let alone five, without shooting her.

The meal wasn't even worth looking at. He did give the contents of the mug a taste; fruit juice. He almost threw it against a wall. _This_ was what he had been reduced to. Hunting the smallest of the small fry under assumed names, hiding out in a carbon flush of an inn where doilies and tea-cozies outnumbered guests by a hundred to one and drinking kriffing fruit juice. They had done this to him.

The Jedi had fried him.

He had heard their voices in his head for weeks, waking and sleeping, after escaping from Black Stall. Even when those faded he could still feel them scuttling through his brain like a pack of slug-rats. His own thoughts felt tainted, dirtied, second hand. His swagger, the unflinching confidence in his own invincibility, had fled. His mind was as sharp as ever but he was lacking that hunger for danger, for a challenge, that pushed him to take the jobs that had made his name one of the most feared in the galaxy.

So here he was, afraid to go to Tantooine because of the whispers about Skywalker and a village of slaughtered Sand-people, afraid to go to Keyorin because it might be too obvious, afraid to go even back to Telos on the off that someone might remember his preference for their hostelries. He had been forced to come home after swearing to never set foot on or above this rock ever again. Damn the Jedi for that too. They had broken open the seals he had welded over the last real emotions he had allowed himself. Now his mother and father haunted his dreams, trees rose up from the soil made of bones and flesh and chased him through nightmare landscapes of burning city-ships. They had driven him back to this place where those dreams took on the potency of reality and threatened to tear what was left of his equilibrium apart.

Bane dropped heavily to the bed, cradling his skull between his hands; his head almost on his knees. The snarl of desperation that escpaed him was dangerously close to something like tears. He dug his fingers into his scalp so hard the skin turned green. Taking several long, ragged breaths he tried to calm himself, tried to run through the specifications of his LL-30s, tried to remember every secret exit and booby trap in his Tantooine stronghold, tried to stop the relentless shrilling in his ears. Nothing worked. With a strangled cry he did fling the tray against a wall; taking comfort in the sound of shattering crockery and the slimy mess that stuck to the floral wall paper. The beeping kept going. He realized it wasn't in his head; it was coming from his belt. It was his comlink.

He pulled the object from its case and stared at it like it was a mythical creature from a youngling's tale. He hadn't used it in weeks. He certainly hadn't given this particular signal to any of those fourth rate flimsi-gangsters he'd been working for. He considered ignoring these summons but he daren't risk it. The mental violation he had suffered would seem pleasant in comparison to what would happen to him if he crossed _this_ one. Taking another long moment to compose himself he tried to re-conjure some part of his usual arrogance to wrap around his bruised psyche. He keyed the holo-projector watching the familiar, cowled figure shimmer streaky blue.

-- Master Bane, I trust I have not reached you at an inopportune time.

The other sounded amused. Bane decided to take this small favor for what it was worth. He smirked.

--I've been a bit busy.

-- Oh I doubt that.

Damn him. Having no response to this last Bane concentrated on mustering a convincingly menacing scowl while waiting for Sidious to continue.

-- Despite your recent…setbacks I am willing to overlook your failings. I have a piece of work for you.

Bane ground his teeth and refused to rise to the bait. He needed this job and the evil, sadistic bastard was enjoying watching him twist on a hook too much already. At length, the holo-projection continued.

-- I need you to scout some locations. Nothing too difficult for you; there won't even be any risky quarry for you to track down.

Bane had never wanted to tear out another being's tongue so much, not even Ziro's. He let his anger color his response.

-- I don't generally hold with being a flatfoot but seeing as how we have such a…longstanding…business relationship I'll make an exception.

He couldn't see much of the face under the hood but he could hear the Sith's oily smile.

-- Excellent.

-- Where generally do you want me to be reconnoitering? I got some business to finish where I am.

-- Oh it shouldn't be an inconvenience at all. I need information on the defenses and general disposition of the Duros city-ships, Jyvus in particular. So you won't even need to leave your current location.

Bane fought to keep the nonplussed look off his face but feared his efforts were futile. The other could probably sense his shock at being located so easily. Stang but he hated these wizards, no matter which side they claimed to be on. Sidious gave him no chance to respond.

-- I will, of course, pay double your usual rate since this job is so…outside your usual area of expertise.

Bane had collected himself before he spoke.

-- Of course, but if I have to snoop around any GAR installations my price is going up.

-- Don't worry Bane; you should be able to stay well clear of any Jedi this time.

Bane had had enough.

-- You have the account number. I expect two thirds up front, as always. Now if there's nothing else I need to be getting back to−

--Actually there _is_ something else. Since your last effort was such a disappointment I've taken the liberty of requesting a partner for you. To better ensure our interests.

-- I work alone.

-- You work for me.

It took every nerve Bane had left to keep from shrinking away at the rancor and naked malevolence in that statement; as quickly as it had flared though it vanished under Sidious's usual sinisterly unctuous manner.

-- I'm certain you won't find this affiliation too irksome. She can be very…accommodating, my agent.

Bane cocked the skin over his eye socket but stayed silent.

-- She should be arriving shortly. I trust that everything will proceed smoothly. I expect to hear about your progress in one week.

The projection shut down abruptly, leaving the Bane to blink at the sudden darkness of the room. He rose after a moment and slapped the switch for the lights. The primeval fixtures seemed about to refuse to work but finally whirred reluctantly to life.

He was well and truly greased.

He needed to be fully functional again and he needed to do it now. As much as he hated to cede anything to the Jedi, the dark one, Windu, had been correct. His fear of Sidious far outweighed any other trauma he might suffer. He could use that fear, use it as the fuel for the poise that his unswerving audacity had once provided. He would finish this job and get the hell off the radar. He'd go to the Tingel Arm or even Wild Space if he had to. Anywhere far, far away from the Jedi and Sith and their spooky religion.

A knock on the door broke his concentration. Annoyed, he stalked over, threw the bolt back and yanked open the door, prepared to take out his temper on that silly harridan; cover be damned.

The old woman was nowhere to be seen. A small, youngish human female stood in the corridor; her fisted hand half raised to where the door had been. She dropped it to her hip and leaned back to look up at him.

-- Expecting me Bane?

Why did she seem familiar? She was unremarkable, grey eyes and mouth too big for her face, mousy hair that seemed inclined to fly away wildly. She did have a lush little figure though, just the kind he liked. Where had he seen her before? He was usually better than this with remembering various beings. He was a bounty hunter after all.

She seemed to read his irratation and looked vaguely amused by it. His hand itched to slap the half smirk off her face.

-- I'll admit that I might be a little less memorable when I'm not behind a bar waving my ass at you but I didn't think I'd made _that_ little of an impression on you.

For the second time in ten minutes Bane had to fight the impulse to stare slack jawed. He got over it quickly. Sometimes, just sometimes, he thought, those fortune tellers had their uses. He twisted his mouth into his best menacing smile. Watching her shrink away slightly made him feel more like his old self again.

-- I'd invite you in but I'm afraid I've made a bit of a mess. Nothing a lady like you'd want to see.

She swallowed audibly. He could almost see her desire to know exactly what he meant warring with her trepidation over his allusions. To his everlasting delight the fear won out.

-- Di…did you have another…um…room then?

He stepped closer. She backed up.

-- Why don't you stay right there,

He pointed to her feet.

-- And let me tug my boots back on. Then we can find somewhere more…appropriate for a pretty thing like yourself.

She blanched but nodded bravely.

He re-entered the room, letting the door fall closed behind him. Chuckling to himself, he retrieved his boots and blaster. He still had no idea what Sidious might need the information requested for or just how risky this job was going to get but his worries were fading fast. He returned to the hall, amused to see the girl rooted to the carpet. With an ironic bow he indicated the direction of the stairs.

-- Ladies first.

* * *

There, not too serious I hope. I might even continue this but I don't know. I'm always leery of OCs.


End file.
